


Parallax

by bzarcher



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Brainwashing, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Intrigues, It gets bad but it will eventually get better, Multi, Other, Plotting, Slipstream Accident, Spying, Talon - Freeform, Widowtracer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2019-10-17 19:32:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17566631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bzarcher/pseuds/bzarcher
Summary: Talon has a problem: Their former asset and the Overwatch agent who turned her.Moira O’Deorain has a solution, and doesn’t mind destroying a few more lives to make it work.Sombra has plans.Reaper has an agenda.Overwatch has concerns.Can they stop Project: Parallax before it’s too late?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rhitta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhitta/gifts).



The chamber that Talon reserved for meetings of the inner Council was not a particularly cozy place at the best of times, but the atmosphere this evening was even more hostile than usual as the lights dimmed, and a projection began to play on the central display.

A facility that had been set up with great secrecy in Norway, half dedicated to research and weapons development, the other half to training more specialized operatives. Assassins. Snipers. Assault troops.

Heavily armed, well staffed, and constantly vigilant, yet practically invisible to the world at large.

In seconds it became a scene of complete chaos.

A patrol entering the camera’s view came to a sudden halt, helmeted heads turning back and forth as if searching for the source of a sound. A blur of motion, too fast to follow, and a flare of bright blue light just before an explosion sent the heavily armored men and women flying like candlepins.

One of the survivors who had kept his footing whirled, raising his rifle to fire a three round burst into the night. Before he could squeeze the trigger again, the back of his helmet (and a good portion of his head) vaporized from the impact of a high powered slug, sending his corpse slumping to the ground.

As the footage continued, troops boiled out of the concealed entrances to face the unseen intruders, some accompanied by their own enhanced operatives, others simply attempting to overwhelm them by sheer numbers, but the outcome remained the same.

Some blasted by pulse bombs, some choking to death on poison. A number suffering disabling wounds from small caliber fire in vulnerable joints and the weaker areas of their armor, others dropped one by one by precisely aimed sniper fire, as if being knocked down by the finger of a vengeful god.

A few of their higher level assets lasted longer, even appeared at one point to disable the blurring shape that had wreaked so much havoc, but there was an odd distortion in the footage, as if part of the frame had suddenly been cut from one spot and transferred to the other, and the two assassins who had combined to take it down suddenly slumped to the ground, a single bullet having pierced both of their hearts.

Akande Ogundimu’s voice rumbled out of the darkness like a particularly displeased earthquake. “I trust I do not have to tell you what followed this...display.”

Maximilien’s head tilted slightly, the omnic’s eyes and sensors gleaming like rubies in the darkness. “The entire facility?”

“What little they did not damage or destroy, the authorities swept up when they followed to seize the building. A complete loss.”

Max let out something remarkably close to a sigh. “The third such incident in as many months.”

“Indeed.” Akande leaned forward as the projection winked out. “But even a single ‘incident’ would have been too many.”

He gestured to the screen, and the security footage was replaced with a dossier.

Widowmaker stared blankly at the camera that had captured her file photo, her skin just beginning to take on the distinctive cyanosis that was now as much her signature as the sniper’s uncanny precision and spider motif.

“We are all familiar with Lacroix and her...capabilities,” Max pointed out coolly. “Even if we didn’t have the footage, no one else is so precise.”

Akande nodded, and after a brief display of footage from the sniper’s training and deployment as an agent of Talon, a new file came onto the screen.

The woman grinning at the camera wore a heavily modified Overwatch cadet uniform, complete with the blue hot dog hat, a bulky armored device strapped to her chest, a glowing blue disc suspended just above her heart.

“Miss Oxton is a similarly known quantity,” Akande observed. “An unfortunate consequence of our attempt to sabotage the Slipstream project.”

Max’s eyes flared, and the screen shifted to footage of Oxton, now in her more typical “Tracer” garb, flitting around Akande as he punched empty air, her pistols lashing his back and neck with fire when she reappeared.

“A ‘consequence’ you failed to remove,” the omnic observed coldly.

“I am _aware_ , Max.” Akande’s hands flexed, but his voice remained dangerously calm. “A failure twice over.” He leaned back, the shadows swallowing him up again. “Between her own efforts, and her later... _disruption_ of Lacroix’s conditioning, I am very _tired_ of our failures haunting us time and time again.”

Maximilien seemed as if he’d roll his eyes if he could. “So you would suggest...killing them? What haven’t we already tried? Make them try to kill each other? That’s how this _fiasco_ started.”

Akande gave an acknowledging tilt of his head. “I do not wish to repeat our past mistakes, but I will admit Tracer was one of the only opponents who came close to eliminating Lacroix while she still served Talon.”

“Then I am very curious what you would suggest. It is not as if we can manufacture another one.”

From the back of the room, a pair of mismatched eyes gleamed, and a third voice joined the conversation.

“Are you so certain of that…?”

Four blocks away, Sombra sat up, her eyes wide as she listened to Moira elaborate on that idea.

Her heart pounding, her free hand flew up and began to open a new interface window for an encrypted message.

_NEED TO MEET ASAP._

_WE HAVE A BIG PROBLEM._

* * *

Even though Widowmaker (or, as she thought of herself more and more, Amélie Lacroix) would now admit that there were some things she felt, and felt deeply, she rarely let them show unless around her closest friends.

Now, as she watched the footage Sombra had brought them, her face was an expressionless mask. The only sign of her growing anger was the slow tightening of her knuckles as her hands clenched into fists.

 _“The process used to improve Lacroix,”_ Moira O’Deorain said as she stood from where she had been lurking, _“was just that - a_ process. _One which we have nearly a decade’s worth of data to help us refine and improve.”_

The recorded Maximilien didn’t seem terribly impressed. _“Hardly a guarantee of success. What prevents them from going rogue as well?”_

Sanjay Gupta joined the conversation. _“Simply sending another sniper - even one at Widowmaker’s level - seems like it would only solve part of the problem.”_

Moira’s smile was as sharp and precise as one of her scalpels. _“Indeed. But I would propose a more radical solution to that concern.”_

Akande’s eyebrow rose. _“Please elaborate, Doctor.”_

_“The circumstances which imbued Oxton with her fascinating abilities - the phenomenon Winston dubbed ‘chronal disassociation’ - were extensively documented. Between our own files, portions of the Blackwatch archives, and the data taken from Gibraltar, we have more than enough to replicate them.”_

She turned her head just enough to look at where the woman being so coldly discussed was sitting.

Lena’s expression was anything but controlled, horror radiating from her as she stared at the screen, her jaw working but no words coming out.

She sympathized with her lover. After all, Moira was discussing some of the most painful and traumatic experiences in their lives, and referring to them as “replicable processes.”

The idea of someone being plucked off the street as she had been, then being subjected to what Lena had experienced…

_Lena volunteered for the Slipstream. I knew that being married to Gérard exposed me to a certain amount of risk._

She remembered being filled with fear as she was interrogated, unsure where she was or what was going to happen. Knowing that Gérard would be trying to find her - would not _stop_ until he found her - was the only thing that had kept her going.

(Until, of course, they used that faith to break her.)

The “subject” that Moira spoke of so blandly would not even have that faint chance of comfort.

Motion drew her eyes back to the screen. Moira had paced her way across the room, facing the others with the air of professor delivering a lecture.

_“Even if you can put someone through a similar accident, there’s no guarantee it will give them similar abilities.”_

_“Isn’t there?”_ Moira radiated confidence. _“After all, one of our own uses a variant of the Slipstream technology every day. We have every reason to expect that inducing the disassociation and then applying our own version of a chronal accelerator will provide a matching result.”_

Sombra at least had the awareness to fidget in her chair when Lena gave her a look.

 _“Very well.”_ Akande rose from the table, his face disappearing into the shadows. _“You may proceed, Moira. Please keep us apprised of your progress.”_

Max’s body language suggested he was deeply unhappy about that development, but the omnic folded his arms and sank back into his chair rather than argue further.

Moira, on the other hand, looked like the cat who had gotten into the cream, radiating satisfaction.

_I almost wonder if she was making plans to launch this project regardless of the outcome._

It would very much be like her, really. Moira would do whatever she felt necessary to indulge her scientific curiosity, but so much the better for her goals if Talon provided their backing and funding rather than her own resources or Oasis.

_“I’ll begin immediately. Thank you, Akande.”_

Ogundimu had begun to turn to leave, but at Moira’s words he turned back, his voice as cold and hard as granite.

_“No more mistakes, O’Deorain. I will be...very disappointed...if this project leads to another costly failure.”_

Sombra raised her hand to gesture at the projector, and the footage winked out. “The rest was pretty much what you’d expect. Max giving the doc his best angry glare, Gupta slinking out like the spineless asshole he is, and everyone leaving in as dramatic a way as possible.”

Lena drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair. “Noticed that You-Know-Who wasn’t in on the meeting.”

“Ever since we helped our favorite spider break the leash, Gabi’s been kept out of the big meetings.” Sombra looked a bit pained, but at the same time, not terribly repentant. “He’s doing his thing and waiting for his chance to get close again - he knows they’ll need him soon enough.”

Amélie hummed. “And you?”

Sombra just shrugged. “If they could keep me out, I wouldn’t be here, right?”

“Suppose you’ve got a point there,” Lena admitted. “Still, this...it’s like my worst nightmare.”

 _“Is_ it possible?”

Now it was Lena’s turn to shrug at her. “Have to talk to Winston. He never pinpointed the exact cause of what happened to the _Slipstream_. But if what they said is true, and Talon sabotaged the bird…”

Amélie looked towards the ceiling, but her mind was far away, and many years ago. “If she thinks it is possible, she will experiment on as many ‘candidates’ as she needs to reach her desired result.”

“I’ll keep tabs on her as best as I can,” Sombra promised. “I may not be able to get inside her private labs, but Gabe still goes to see her for ‘treatment’ every couple months. It’ll give me a window to check on her progress.”

“Do that. You know how to reach us, should it be needed.”

Sombra stood and swept herself into a dramatic bow. “Well, I guess that’s my cue to go, so - see you later!”  A purple flash of light swallowed Sombra, and in a heartbeat she was gone.

“Well.” Lena buried her fingers into her hair with a sigh. “Want to call Winston next?”

“No.”

Before Lena could question her further, she rose and crossed the room, taking Lena’s hand and hauling her up and into a tight embrace.

“We can call him later,” Amélie whispered into Lena’s hair, the cocktail of fear, anger, and horror she had carefully repressed finally leaking into her voice as she felt Lena shudder against her. “For now…”

“Yeah,” Lena murmured as they held each other, not bothering to stop the tears that had begun to flow. “For now.”


	2. Chapter 2

_“HA!”_

A dozen legs swung through the air as the class attempted the kick that their instructor had just demonstrated.

“That’s good, ladies!” Emily beamed at her students. “Remember - wide stance, drive using your hips, and _snap_ that foot out!”

She went through the hook kick again at half speed as she spoke, driving her heel into her imaginary opponent’s head.

“Now - give me ten of those, please, and I’ll be checking in with each of you as you go.”

This class was mostly women around her own age who had an interest in self defense, and Emily did her best to speak to them as an instructor, but still offer praise and constructive criticism without coming off as condescending.

They worked on two more kicks before Emily paired them off to spar, walking between each pair so she could observe and offer more direct critique. The most common problem she found was people using too much enthusiasm and overbalancing or putting themselves in a bad position, and it was best to get those mistakes corrected before they became habits.

As the clock neared the top of the hour, she clapped her hands sharply to bring everyone’s attention back to her.

“Very well done tonight, everyone! You all did great work. Remember to practice this week - that hook kick is a fundamental when we start doing reverse kicks!”

By the time she’d seen everyone out and made her way back to change, Emily was looking forward to a nice dinner, a cup of tea, and a long hot shower. Taking her long red hair out of the bun she kept it in for teaching and fighting, she’d shucked her shoes and was undoing the belt knotted around her waist when she realized she was not alone.

“Emily Cooke?”

She stiffened and turned to properly face the speaker, a tall, spare looking woman in a black suit and gloves, the crisp white shirt and narrow black tie screaming “COP!” to her.

“Yes? Can I help you?”

The woman smiled thinly as she reached into her jacket and produced her ID and a badge. “DCI Roberta Highland, CID. I’d like to speak to you about an incident.”

Emily frowned as concern replaced her surprise. “Did something happen to one of my students?”

Detective Highland shook her head. “I’d prefer not to discuss it here, but I can explain everything once we’re on the way.”

The woman’s eyes were mismatched, Emily realized after a second. One blue, the other a strange shade of brown that almost appeared to be red.

_Never seen that before. Still, doesn’t really matter that much, does it?_

“Do you mind if I change? My keys are in my bag.”

“Not at all, but I have a car waiting outside, actually.”

Some little part of Emily’s mind was ringing an alarm bell as she undressed and quickly pulled on a pair of jeans and a clean t-shirt, then stuffed the uniform and her pads into the duffle bag. As if something just didn’t quite feel right, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

The detective didn’t seem terribly concerned, though. She just leaned against one of the lockers, seemingly fascinated by the pattern of the carpet, though Emily had a feeling that was a polite fiction to keep her from being too uncomfortable.

Once she had her bag zipped up, she slipped it on over her shoulder. “OK, I’m ready to go.”

“Excellent. This way, please.”

It was a bit bizarre to be lead out of the studio which she taught at, but the detective had an air of authority and command that Emily found herself deferring to, and just as she’d promised there was a sedan waiting, the engine still running.

“Just put your bag in the boot,” Highland instructed, and when Emily finished that she was a bit charmed by the fact that the other woman was holding the passenger door open for her.

Once she was sitting in the car, Highland shut the door and walked over to the driver’s side while Emily belted in, and she waited until the car had pulled away from the curb and moving into the late evening traffic before clearing her throat.

“So, you said there was some kind of incident…?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Highland said a bit absently as she drove.

“I don’t suppose you could give me a few more details about it now?”

“Ah.” Highland chuckled, and the woman’s fairly neutral accent slipped into something a bit warmer, with a distinct Irish brogue to it. “That would be your kidnapping, actually.”

Emily’s face screwed up in confusion as she tried to release her seat belt, only to find it unresponsive. “What? What is this?! What is going on?!”

“There’s no reason to raise your voice,” Highland said placidly as she reached out to tap a button on the dash. Emily heard a soft hissing sound from behind her, and a feeling like a bug bite on the back of her neck.

“Don’t worry, though. You’re not likely to remember any of this. Well...not as you are.”

Her vision swam with those ominous words, and she could swear she heard the woman chuckle softly just before everything went black.

* * *

“I’m afraid I don’t have a good answer for you,” Winston admitted as he slumped down on one of the tires he used as a chair. “If what you say is true and Talon has more data on the Slipstream project - and the accident - it’s _possible_ they could replicate the conditions of the original event, but I wouldn’t say another case of chronal disassociation is a given.”

Lena leaned back in her borrowed chair, not really sure if she felt better or worse with that news. “And if it didn’t work…?”

Winston gave a low, thoughtful hum. “Well, if the core drive unit was working properly, it _should_ teleport itself. So ideally the best case is whomever Talon might attempt to...modify...would just move from one spot to another.”

She nodded, mentally admitting that made a fair bit of sense before she had to ask the next logical question. “So...aside from Talon makin’ someone else who can do what I do...what’s the _worst_ case?”

“Ah. Well…” Winston reached up to rub at the back of his neck, his eyes flicking towards the ceiling as he thought. “The most likely outcome would be the death of the person being experimented on...and possibly that of everyone else in the vicinity.”

Lena winced. “Bloody _hell_.”

Winston coughed. “Yes. Well. Obviously an unstable core in the drive would be quite unpredictable. It’s part of why...your reappearance was so shocking.”

Lena tried not to think too hard about the fact that her name was on the memorial plaque back at the old HQ. Or the gravestone down in the cemetery nearby. “Well, at least I had you to bring me back, big guy.”

Winston gave her a relieved smile, glad to have an excuse to change the topic. “So - how long do you plan to stay?”

“Depends what - or when - we hear from Sombra.” Lena couldn’t help but feel a bit conflicted. “I’d like to pitch in more, but Amélie…”

“Ah. Yes...I imagine it’s not easy for her.”

Lena gave a little nod. “I mean, Angie’s been great, don’t get me wrong! Hana, too. But…”  
  
_But Ana hasn’t forgiven her, and the reminders of Gérard here are painful. Not to mention the way the room seems to drop five degrees when Zenyatta walks in, or the way Jesse looks at her..._

“Once we finish,” Lena mused softly. “Maybe she’ll be more comfortable then.”

Winston nodded as he heaved himself up off the tire to cross the lab to her. “I do hope so. But don’t feel like you have to wait until you’ve brought Talon down to visit.”

Even when Winston ducked down a bit, Lena had to stretch to get him in a hug, but that just made them that much better. “Aww. Thanks, luv. And if you need me…”

“I’ll call,” Winston promised with a smile.

Lena nodded, tightening the hug as much as she could before she dropped back down. “Oh - one more thing I wanted to ask.”

“Mm?”

“Say they _do_ try makin’ another Slipstream, or something like it - is there any way to watch for it?”

Winston rubbed his chin as he considered that. “Possibly...I’ll look at a few ideas, and see what we can do with what’s left of the old satellite network. We might be able to look for elevated boson and tachyon levels. I’ll have Athena help me with a few models.”

“Brilliant!”

When she left the lab, Amélie was waiting in the hallway, leaning with exaggerated casualness against the wall. To anyone else she likely would have looked placid and unconcerned - maybe even bored - but Lena could see the tightness around her mouth and the way she kept her shooting hand rigidly against her side.

“All set,” she announced as she came over, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. “How’d your checkup go?”

“Angela did not find any irregularities. It seems my condition is stable.”

The deadpan delivery made Lena want to wince. “Well, that’s something, at least.” They had been worried that Talon might have incorporated some form of failsafe or killswitch that might start to affect Widowmaker if she left their control. “Fancy some lunch?”

Amélie shrugged as she pushed herself off the wall. “I suppose I could eat.”

“Winston’s not really sure they could make another Slipstream,” she offered as they walked to the Watchpoint kitchen. “Or if they’d get the same results. But he’s going to work on finding a way to monitor for it, just in case.”

“That is good. I did speak to Angela about the possibility of someone being...conditioned as I was. Without exact details she could not make many predictions, but she said it might be difficult to treat them.”

Lena nodded grimly. After all, it had taken Amélie years to break free, with Talon reconditioning her at the slightest sign of defiance.

She’d needed Sombra’s help to carefully disrupt more and more of Talon’s control and monitoring, and Lena’s influence to widen the cracks, encounter after encounter, until she was ready to break them once and for all.

“Well, with a little luck we can find the poor bastard Moira is going to try experimenting on, and get them out before it’s too late.”

She took Amélie’s hand and gave a reassuring squeeze, and smiled when Amélie immediately squeezed back.

“Yes. With a little luck…”


	3. Chapter 3

Sombra kept a careful eye on the screens projected around her as she navigated through the Talon network, slipping in and out of back doors she’d placed over the last five years.

What she _really_ needed was direct access into O’Deorain’s private network in Oasis, but the Ministry of Genetics took their network security seriously, and the city-state’s security apparatus weren’t far behind.

Still, the fact that Akande was asking for regular progress reports meant that O’Deorain had to provide data back into Talon’s network, which meant she had a way to try to dig a few things out for her own purposes.

So far, she hadn’t made much progress. Materials requisitions, requests for technical files, some of the data on the Slipstream project.

Moira would already have all the files on the Widowmaker project, so the lack of data flowing there wasn’t too much of a surprise, but the lack of _personnel_ …

_Either she already had test candidates in mind, or she’s been using Oasis’ own intelligence services to find “subjects.” One way or the other…_

**“What are you doing?”**

Sombra nearly flew out of her chair, hear heart hammering against her ribcage. _“GABE!”_

A quick glance around confirmed that “Reaper” had come in through the air vent. The door of the network closet she’d slipped into was still locked tight, and there was no sign of unusual activity on the security cameras.

**“Oh, sorry, did I interrupt something?”** Gabriel crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the door with false nonchalance. **“I was just trying to see if you wanted to grab some lunch when you were done failing to break into Moira’s files.”**

Sombra glared at him, dismissing her interfaces with an angry swipe of her hand and snap of her fingers. “So, what, you going to yell at me for being too nosy?”

**“No,”** Gabriel said as he straightened up. **“I thought I’d ask why you’re wasting time doing this remotely when you need to get into Oasis.”**

Sombra’s jaw dropped, then worked up and down for a moment without anything coming out. “OK, seriously, _what the hell._ You knew?”

**“Educated guess,”** he deadpanned. **“You’re trying to find out what Moira’s doing, and pass the intel to Widowmaker so she and Tracer can try to stop her. Pretty obvious you’d start from here.”**

“And you’re just...letting me do it? I mean, I know you had some plans, but…”

Gabriel shook his head, his shoulders hunching slightly. **“This...isn’t about that.”**

Sombra raised an eyebrow. “So what is it about, then?”

**“I made Gérard a promise once,”** Gabriel rapsed, his voice surprisingly soft as he spoke through his mask. **“I honored it by making sure you got Amélie out of here. But it would have been for nothing if I sit by and let her get killed.”**

“Awww. You really are a softie at heart, Gabi.”

**“Don’t push it,** **_Olivia._ ** **”**

Sombra rolled her eyes with a sigh. “Fine, whatever. So - what’s the plan?”

Gabriel’s head tilted, and she could almost swear he was smiling. **“I need a checkup.”**

* * *

“Ah. I see you’re awake.”

Emily shivered and let out a low groan. Her hands were bound behind what felt like an open backed chair, and her shoulders ached as if she’d been sitting this way for hours.

It seemed like she’d been stripped down to her underwear and bra, the floor cold against her bare feet, and as she opened her eyes she found it seemed to be concrete, the only real feature a drain set into the slab.

She could hear footsteps, but her head felt oddly heavy, unwilling to respond when she tried to look around. Finally, with great effort she managed to lift her head to find a woman in a smart looking white lab coat, slacks, and a black shirt with a purple tie examining her with a smirk.

“How are you feeling, dear?”

“Nggh.” Her mouth felt as if it was full of cotton, and she couldn’t push her words through it.

“Mmm. Not an uncommon reaction to the anesthetic, I must admit.”

Anesthetic? She’d been drugged?

Emily couldn’t remember how she’d gotten here - where she even _was_ …

A bony hand covered in grossly exaggerated purple veins and oddly discolored skin reached out to grasp her chin before the woman (a doctor?) leaned in to carefully examine her face.

“Pupillary response is good, and you’re clearly aware and receptive.”  The woman smiled, and something about it made Emily’s skin crawl. “Some of the more specialized equipment we’ll need is still under construction, but I see no reason why we can’t get started.”

Emily groaned as she was released, her head falling back down to rest against her chest, finally able to find her voice.

“Who...are...you?”

The woman chuckled. “Oh, where _are_ my manners?” A pair of black dress shoes came into her vision, and Emily forced her head up again to watch as the woman took a brief bow.

“Doctor Moira O’Deorain, at your service. And as to the question I expect you to ask next, you’re my...guest. But don’t worry - we plan to take _quite_ good care of you.”

Moira walked away again, and she could hear the clink of glass and a sound of something being opened before she felt the sting of a needle in her arm.

“Welcome to Talon, Emily.”

* * *

“I have eyes on the targets.”

From the rooftop where she had set up, Widowmaker carefully swept her scope over the street where the small group of Vishkar architechs and security officers were escorting their prisoner towards a waiting transport.

“Understood,” Winston rumbled over the radio. “Pharah? Are you ready to move?”

“Pharah here - my group is in position.”

Winston gave a low grunt. “Roger. Prepare to engage in five…”

She took a deep breath and sighted in on the lead architech, a spare looking man in a crisp white suit.

“Four…”

Her finger disengaged the safety, and came to rest against the trigger guard.

“Three…”

Exhaled.

“Two…”

Her sights came to rest on the back of the architech’s skull.

“One…”

Her finger curled against the trigger, and she began to apply just the barest hint of pressure.

“Go Go Go!”

The Widow’s Kiss spoke with a sharp _crack_ , and she watched the architech pitch forward, the white suit now a red ruin.

In almost the same instant Winston slammed to the ground in the middle of their formation, scattering the Vishkar forces before one massive fist slammed a shield generator into the ground to protect the hostage.

From the opposite rooftop Pharah sprang into the air, Mercy trailing behind her on golden wings, while Tracer and Genji leapt into the fray.

The remaining architech threw up a hard light rampart that he and the security troops ducked behind for cover, the construct resisting the impact of a pair of Pharah’s rockets.

Long reflex made her follow the flash of blue as Lena dashed in, her pulse pistols striking the smaller hard light shields that the security troopers deployed, then teleporting away from the beams of their photon projectors.

She waited for an opening for another clean shot, and her opportunity came after the ninja raked across the troopers with his short sword drawn, sending two of them sprawling, while the architech broke cover to raise his projector, clearly intending to hit Genji before he could lunge away.

It wasn’t a fatal shot, but she felt a burst of satisfaction as the architech stumbled back, his shoulder a bloody mess, the projector clattering to the street before it could fire.

The barrier fizzled out with the architech unable to sustain it, and it wasn’t long before the security troops were taken out of the fight as well, leaving the Overwatch team free to withdraw with their rescued prisoner.

Swinging from rooftop to rooftop, she caught Lena pacing her back to the Orca, and by unspoken agreement they turned it into a bit of a race, beating the rest of the team by a good twenty seconds that Amélie spent claiming the spoils of her victory with a thorough kiss.

“Nice work out there, luv.”

“You were quite impressive as well.”

“Bet I could impress you even more when we get back home…”

Before she could reply to Lena’s flirtations, a heavy thump signaled Winston’s approach.

The gorilla landed as they took a few steps apart, the woman they had engaged Vishkar to rescue carefully cradled in his arms.

“Tracer,” Winston said as he carefully set their guest down, “Widowmaker. Meet Satya Vaswani - better known as ‘Symmetra’.”

Amélie raised an eyebrow as the remainder of the team gathered. “I believe we have encountered each other before.”

Satya seemed a bit shell shocked for several reasons - not the least the way she seemed to struggle with her prosthetic arm, the normally glowing emitters and receptors all dark - but gave her a nod. “I believe we have, yes. Under...somewhat different circumstances.”

Winston hummed. “Angela should be able to take a look at your arm once we’re back at the watchpoint, Miss Vaswani, but we need to get moving.”

“Of course...and thank you. Thank you all.”

Lena grinned. “It’s what we do, luv!”  
  
It wasn’t long before Lena was bringing the Orca in for a landing at the watchpoint, and when Amélie made her way to the infrequently used quarters she had been given, she was not entirely surprised to find a message waiting on her phone after she had finished changing out of her combat gear.

She didn’t recognize the number, but it wasn’t hard to guess who it was from given the context.

 

_Did you get her?_

_Yes. She is safe._

_I know I didn’t set up the job but...thanks. I owe you._

_A favor for a friend._

_You’re stealing my lines now?_

_Anyway. I may have something for you soon._

_Going on a little trip._

_I will look forward to it._


	4. Chapter 4

She dreamed.

(She thought.)

She remembered.

(She believed.)

Sitting in the hall outside the Headmaster’s office, a cold compress over one eye, her knuckles aching with what will soon be bruises.

“Oh, the _state_ of you…”

It hurts a bit to look up at her mum, but she manages to give a weak smile.

(Were her eyes mismatched before?)

“And just what sort of trouble have you gotten into?”

“She was picking on the second years.”

Mum’s sigh was exasperated, but there was fondness under it. “That’s why we told you to get a _teacher_ , Emily.”

“Mrs. Prewitt didn’t care. She said she didn’t see anything wrong! She didn’t even look!”

“So you took things into your own hands, then.”

Emily remembered the way the girl with the spiky brown hair (hadn’t she been blonde?) had looked as she’d stood over her. The mix of surprise and sudden fear in her brown (blue) eyes, so different from the cruel expression she’d had while lording it over the younger, smaller kids.

“Well.” Mum crouched down in front of her, then leaned in to kiss her forehead. “I suppose if you’re going to be looking out for people, we had better make sure you can do it properly. But no more _starting_ fights, mm?”

“Yes’m!”

(That was real. She knew it was.)

Dad taking her to the first classes. Finding her fit in _Taekwando_ and working every day at it. Practicing her form in the yard, or the garage when it was too wet.

Tournaments.

Tests.

Keeping her nose _mostly_ clean in the schoolyard, but making sure that even if she never started another fight, she most certainly would finish them.  

(She’d never handled a gun before, though. Had she?)

New memories trickle in slowly, like water moving between densely packed stones.

A figure that might have been her Dad, taking her to a pistol range.

The first shots are wildly off the mark, but it isn’t long before she’s bringing a target home with five perfectly grouped shots in the “X” ring.

Mum (Her hair was never that short, was it?) pins it on the fridge with pride, right next to the ribbon from the under 16 tournament she’d won.

A ride out into the country with a man she keeps calling Grandad (But he had died before she turned six!) who takes her grouse shooting. Wincing at the kick of the shotgun and the ache in her shoulder, but the meal they make of the roasted bird and some potatoes cooked in the rendered fat makes the pain seem far, far away.

(That never happened...but...did it?)

Shooting a rifle from a resting stand, the scope against one eye. Targets growing farther and farther away, but even when she is able to hit the bullseye she doesn’t like it nearly as much as the pistols.

(She’d _never_ liked guns. Why…?)

Her chest is heaving as she twists her body away from the swing of a mugger’s arm, the knife in his hand gleaming in the low light. Her kick follows on instinct, heel slamming into his stomach and folding him over.

When he drops the knife, somehow it ends up in her hand as she stands over him. Another kick to the groin lays him out, but some part of her doesn’t think that’s enough.

_Finish it properly. Just as you were told._

(That wasn’t her mum’s voice.)

She turns the knife in her hand. She doesn’t really recognize the face in the reflection.

_Finish. It. Properly._

It’s not a man sprawled beneath her, but a woman. That same spiky brown hair, an odd device strapped to her chest.

_I don’t want to remind you again._

She knows that she’ll be punished if Mum has to tell her a third time.

She buries the knife deep in his / her / their chest, angling the blade under the ribs and up into the heart. She can feel the last frantic beats translated through the metal and up into her arm, and her cheeks are wet.

She pulls the knife back, and a turn of her hand flicks most of the blood from the blade.

Now she recognizes the face in her reflection.

_Well done._

_Very well done._

When she blinks the tears away, she isn’t in an alley. She’s in a ring of some kind. A training ground?

The mugger is wearing a black tank top and sweatpants. A stylized red “T” in the center of his chest has been slashed clean through, and the blood has made the fabric cling to his cooling skin.

There are wires. On her arms. Up her legs. Over her chest. Her scalp, her _face_.

“Well done, Emily.”

(Emily? Yes. Emily. Cooke. Emily Cooke. I’m Emily Cooke. I’m Emily Cooke! Emily! Emily. Emily?)

Her (not) mother is walking around her, something in her bearing like a shark considering a possible meal.

“I think we’ve made great progress, you and I. But there’s no point in going much further with your program until we’re ready for the next phase.”

She doesn’t know what that means.

She doesn’t know what to say.

(Mother) smiles.

“But that’s nothing you need to worry about.”

A fingertip reaches out, brushing her temple with surprising gentleness.

_“Sleep.”_

(and she does.)

* * *

Gabriel was as good as his word.

Reaper’s request for an ‘appointment’ got them a private jet and a set of diplomatic papers that lets him bypass all customs and security screenings - and once he dropped the translocator beacon in his hotel room, it meant Sombra had bypassed them, too.

**“I won’t be able to take that into the ministry. Moira considers me a friend, but she’ll still have me screened before I’m allowed inside.”**

Sombra nodded as she checked over the gear she brought with her. She was traveling as light as she could, hoping she’d have everything she’d need without tripping any alarms.

“I figured. I think as long as I can get nearby, I can figure out my own way in.”

She really wished she knew how he managed to look so skeptical through that damned mask. **“You should have a plan for that already.”**

“Don’t you worry, Gabi. Nobody’s even going to know I was there.”

He doesn’t scoff, which is nice. Sort of.

One of these days he might even try smiling again.

She’d like to see it when he does.

**“I’m due at the Ministry at 0900 local time. If my ‘checkup’ goes to plan, you’ll have a two hour window to get into her files. Much more than that, and you’ll risk her noticing your presence.”**

It’s a tight window, honestly. She’s good, but so is all the security here - and that time has to include physical infiltration and a stealthy exfiltration, too.

Still - she didn’t get to be Sombra by being lazy.

“Fine. I’ll make sure to do it in an hour and a half, then.”

**“Riiiight. Just try not to set off the alarm on ‘accident’ this time.”**

She rolled her eyes as she slid her coat off and grabbed her little go bag from where it had been tucked inside Gabriel’s larger suitcase. “Would you go order some room service or something while I get a shower? Get me some falafels. I was stuck with you in a plane for ten hours and I _need_ falafels, _Gabe_.”

Gabriel growled with annoyance, but as she went into the bathroom, she heard the muffled sounds of him putting in a big room service order - including two orders of falafel.

She started the shower, and began to undress with a smile on her face.

_Total softie._

Ten hours later, Sombra had to admit she might have been a little too cavalier about getting inside.

The ground floor was obviously out, and the underground parking garage / loading dock had layered automated and actively monitored security, plus regular patrols checking vehicles going in and out.

That left her best option as the roof, and none of the neighboring buildings had good line of sight.

Which is why she was now shimmying her way up one of the steel cables that anchored a cell tower to the roof of an apartment building on the opposite corner.

Tossing a beacon from the top of the tower was just possible, but iffy. The beacons flew pretty well, but not _that_ well.

Fortunately, she had an idea. She wasn’t entirely sure it would work, but it wasn’t so far off from a trick she’d seen Tracer pull a few different times, and as Moira had pointed out, the accelerator tech and her translocators weren’t that different.

She engaged her camo as she reached the tower, carefully turning herself until her legs were braced against the steel frame. After a second to get her bearings, Sombra reached into her pocket for a beacon, thumbed the priming switch, and pushed herself off the tower as hard as she could.

The beacon flew from her hand as she reached the apex of her jump, and she grabbed on to a second beacon even as she hit the virtual switch that would send her to the first. Her stomach lurched as the translocator pulled her through space for the short hop, and as soon as her vision cleared she was flinging the second beacon, trying to follow its path as she began to plunge towards the ground.

The beacon’s icon on her HUD blinked as it landed atop the roof of the Ministry building, and Sombra triggered the second jump with just under a dozen meters between her and the street.

Her momentum meant she smacked hard into the concrete of the rooftop, and the nausea from the back to back jumps overwhelmed her usual resistance.

_At least I was able to hurl behind the A/C unit. Ugh! Hopefully nobody is planning to come up here for a smoke before it dries up._

Still, she had to give herself a minute after she’d recovered to be proud of her own cleverness before she moved to the rooftop access door.

She’d brought physical lockpicks to back up her virtual ones, but to her pleasant surprise the door hadn’t been locked.

_About time something went my way!_

62 minutes of her planned 90 minute window left.

Sombra tightened her gloves as she made her way down the stairwell. The top floor would be the Minister’s office and her personal staff. Labs were mostly on the ground floor and sub basements, and the other floors given over to administrative and academic staff.

She descended the stairwell until she saw a door swing open below her and a balding man in a suit walked through, headed for the ground floor. A couple of quick hops got her to the landing and through the door before it shut, and she swept the floor until she found a darkened office - probably the one the main in the suit had just left.

Sombra slipped inside, locked the door, and grinned at the computer sitting atop the desk as she let her camo drop.

“This is getting better and better…”

It wasn’t long before she’d hijacked the computer’s user profile (Dr. Jaalouk, apparently) and had turned it into her gateway into the Ministry network.

She started a couple of processes running to get herself root access, and while they were running Sombra made her way into the building’s camera system so she could start setting up random interval loops to conceal her exit.

She’d nearly finished when she noticed a dead spot in the coverage. A lab that had been marked as “restricted” and the camera feed shut off.

_The feed’s shut off, but what about the actual camera….?_

Tracing back to the source address confirmed the camera was still online, just in a sleep mode. At first Sombra thought it might be the lab where Moira was examining Gabriel’s “condition”, but a check showed them on another feed. Her curiosity piqued, she kept the blackout on the security feed, and rerouted the live feed to one of her screens as she woke the camera up.

_“Hijo de puta…”_

She didn’t recognize the woman resting on a hospital bed, but she certainly recognized the devices which had been placed over her ears, on her forehead, and covering her eyes.

She’d seen Amélie hooked up to them plenty of times, after all.

_She’s already got a subject?! I didn’t think she’d be that far along._

Referencing the locked down lab in her sweep of the secured file storage quickly began to gather results that she could copy to her own local storage.

_ > Project: Parallax _

_ > Program _

_ > Materials _

_ > Development _

_ > Testing _

_ > Deployment Plan _

As she skimmed the incoming data, somehow she wasn’t surprised to find out the woman locked into the bed was listed under “materials”.

“Doc’s been busy...but I think I know a few ways to slow her down.”

A smile spread across Sombra’s face as she began to open up more of the “Program” files. She’d seen a lot of these conditioning and hypnotic suggestion programs before, and she knew just where to put some editing in where O’Deorain would be unlikely to notice, but their “subject” would be given a little more awareness of the bullshit.

_After all, everything can be hacked, and every one._

The timer had changed from purple digits to red. Fifteen minutes left in her window, and six minutes left in her copy job.

“That might be cutting it a little _too_ close.”

She had all of the “program” and “materials” files. It wouldn’t take long to finish “development”, but she would have to cut it there to make sure she’d be able to make a clean getaway.

_Wish I could get the rest, but I’m pretty sure this will be enough to get Ami moving. Besides - beggars can’t be choosers, right?_

As soon as the modified transfer wrapped up, Sombra carefully rolled up the hacks she’d made. Her camo re-engaged, she slipped into the hallway and out to the opposite stairwell, timing her run to the loops she’d set up until she reached a fire door on the ground floor.

A quick check verified the alarm circuits were still bypassed and the security cameras reporting all clear, but she still held her breath as she pushed the handle down.

To Sombra’s relief, the door swung open on well oiled hinges, and the alarm remained silent as she slipped out, and the only sign she had ever been there was the soft ‘click’ as door shut once again.

By the time Reaper left the ministry and returned to the hotel, she was out of her gear and munching on some of the leftover hummus and khubz while she packaged up the stolen data for transmission.

“Hey. How was your checkup?”

Gabriel gave a noncommittal grunt. **“Could have been better. Could have been worse.”**

“You know, you _could_ go to Ziegler one of these days. Ever hear of a second opinion?”

**“No. Not until the real job is done.”** He turned and walked to the window, making it clear that conversation was over.  **“So. Did you get it?”**

Sombra nodded, a little smile on her face despite the gravity of what she’d found. “Oh yeah. I got it.”

Gabriel considered that in silence for a moment, then turned back to face her, his body language full of determination. **“Get packed up. We’ll need to be out of here soon if you’re going to make it to France by tomorrow morning.”**

“Huh?” She blinked in confusion even as she got off the bed and started packing up her bag again. “I was just going to use a dead drop.”

**“No. This needs a live handoff. I don’t think you were made, but it’s too important to take any chances.”**

Sombra narrowed her eyes at something in the tone of his voice. “You sure you’re not just getting me out of the way?”

Gabriel crossed the room with the deliberate intent he’d perfected since becoming Reaper, but when he reached out to put a hand on her shoulder, the touch was surprisingly gentle despite the sharply raked claws and edges of his gauntlets.

**“I take care of my people, Sombra.”**

“...yeah,” she admitted softly. “You do.” She thought of the files she’d memorized on Lacroix, McCree, Shimada, and a handful of other Blackwatch agents who hadn’t been subverted by Talon. “OK. I’ll pass the word that I’m coming in once we’re in the air.”

**“Good. Now get a move on - we’re wheels up in 30.”**


	5. Chapter 5

“I do not appreciate being lied to, Gabriel.”

Not for the first time, Gabriel Reyes was grateful for the Reaper’s mask.

 **“The degeneration has increased. You said it yourself. The** **_treatment_ ** **needed to be adjusted.”**

Moira’s eyes narrowed. “And yet it appears someone compromised one of the computers in my ministry, and accessed several secure file systems - while I was examining you, I might add.” Her head tilted slightly, and it was hard to resist the urge to mirror her gesture. “Forgive me if I find that quite a coincidence.”

He considered his reply carefully. Sombra’s name hadn’t been mentioned, even if they both knew she was the most likely culprit. But there was nothing wrong with throwing a little extra suspicion around, was there?

**“You know Max has been insisting the money be well spent lately. Particularly for your...project.”**

He could tell that gave Moira pause.

“That’s true. And he is nothing if not well informed…” Moira turned to fully face the video pickup, and gave a half bow. “I apologize. Perhaps I spoke too quickly.”

He made a dismissing gesture with one clawed glove. **“Understandable.”**

“How are you feeling with the new formulation?”

 **“Keeping myself together is a little easier. Less...slippery.”** He didn’t even have to lie about that.

Moira nodded, a thoughtful expression on her face as she made a mental note. “I shall keep that in mind for your next visit.”

He nodded. **“Anything else, Moira?”**

“No...no, I shouldn’t think so. Where are you off to now?”

**“Refueling in Spain, then on to LA.”**

Moira’s face softened with a surprising amount of sympathy. “Can’t leave it alone, can you?”

Gabriel’s mouth tightened beneath the mask. **“Would you?”**

“I suppose I shall never know,” Moira admitted wistfully. “But...please, Gabriel. You keep causing yourself unnecessary pain. Isn’t it time to let them go?”

 **“No,”** he finally replied after a long moment, his voice barely audible through his mask. **“Not yet.”**

Moira nodded, reluctantly accepting his answer. “Then I’ll wish you well.”

**“Thanks, Doc. Talk to you later.”**

He waited until the connection had dropped completely, and set the autopilot. A deep breath before he reached up to lower his hood, and pull the mask away.

His ‘condition’ didn’t allow for tears, but he could feel wisps of smoke rising through him until they began to escape past what had been his tear ducts as his shoulders shook with silent sobs.

Gabriel was thankful he’d dropped Sombra off in Athens. He’d never hear the end of it if she’d caught him like this.

* * *

Moira drummed her fingers against the polished glass the desk in her private office. Gabriel had a point about Max’s incessant desire to know where every dollar and cent was spent as a way to express his disapproval. She wasn’t entirely certain she believed in so much coincidence, but it didn’t matter, really.

One way or another, information on her latest project was in the wild, and that meant there was a risk, however small, that it could be compromised.

Her lips quirked as she stood and walked to the wall that concealed an elevator down to the high security labs.

_I suppose we shall simply have to...accelerate._

By the time she’d reached the labs, she was most of the way through redesigning the remainder of her plans for Talon’s newest weapon.

The slipstream drive didn’t require an entire aircraft to operate, of course. Since she had no interest in building a functioning airframe, she’d simply worked on replicating the drive core and control systems, along with a rudimentary frame that the subject would be placed in to replicate the conditions of the original accident.

As she passed the otherwise bare room where the system was being constructed, she paused to consider the progress.

The unit was perhaps sixty percent complete, since she’d instructed her staff to painstakingly test every component to ensure the exact tolerances.

_There’s no need to take foolish risks, but perhaps the remaining assembly could be streamlined…_

Yes. That was clearly the best course of action.

With her decision made, she swept through the labs until she found the project manager who was heading Phase II.

“Afran.”

The manager looked up from the reports he’d been engrossed in and stiffened, giving her a respectful nod. “Minister.”

“I’m concerned the project may be under...unwanted scrutiny. We need to accelerate our timeline.”

Afran frowned as he relaxed slightly, taking his glasses off and tapping one earpiece against his lips in thought. “We have a few ways - the simplest would be if you could authorize more staff.”

She considered that, then nodded. “Reasonable. I also believe we can find some opportunities to streamline the remaining assembly tasks.”

“You had previously stated precision was more important than speed…”

“Our situation has changed. I have no wish for carelessness, but we do ensure we can complete the system in the next...shall we say four days?”

Afran winced. “You are asking a great deal, Minister.”

“And I will reward your success appropriately.”

The unspoken corollary that she would also punish failure hung in the air for a moment before Afran began to pull up the plans and schedules and make adjustments. “Please let me know as soon as I can begin bringing more technicians on, and I will inform the team of the new deadline.”

Moira smiled with satisfaction. “Brilliant.”

* * *

Emily _knew_ she’d never been a pilot. She hardly even flew on commercial airlines, but somehow she was sitting in the cockpit of...something.

What she could see from the bubble canopy looked quite sleek and aggressive, and the nose of the plane seemed to be painted a grey color that made her think of the military jets she’d seen on TV.

_A fighter jet? Seems like it, at least. I must be dreaming…_

If it was a dream, though, she certainly seemed to know what to do in it. Her hands almost seemed to move of their own accord, flipping switches and adjusting dials until she felt a vibration running through her as the engines spooled up.  

There was a crackle of static in her ears, and Emily frowned with confusion until she realized she must be wearing a helmet.

_“X-ray 525, you are clear for takeoff on runway Zero Three Right.”_

She wanted to laugh at herself for the silliness of it all, but something in the woman’s voice made her take it seriously.

“Roger, X-ray 525 proceeding to Zero Three Right.”

She wasn’t quite sure why her dream was being so detailed, but when in Rome, she supposed.

She found herself pushing on the throttle just enough to get the aircraft moving, taxiing along to the runway she’d been given before lining herself up for takeoff, and pushing the throttle to the firewall.

Acceleration pushed her back into the pilot’s seat, and she couldn’t stop herself from letting out a delighted whoop as she took to the air, maneuvering the jet as if she’d been doing it for years.

It seemed it wasn’t just fun and games flying like a bird, though. The radio crackled again, and the voice returned.

_“X-ray 525, prepare for Slipstream activation.”_

“Roger that.”

Her hand was drawn to a set of switches on the...was it a dashboard? She had no idea.

Each of the four switches clicked home, and a corresponding light appeared above them.

“Ready for activation.”

_“Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Activate!”_

Emily thumbed a button that had been set into the end of the throttle, and suddenly the dream became a nightmare as everything began to glow with a strange blue light.

The cockpit flickered and bent, everything spinning wildly as the light seemed to dissolve the jet around her, leaving nothing but a steel tube frame and a set of controls, the open skies replaced by bare white walls before those, too, were consumed.

Emily screamed as her entire body twitched and tingled as if it had been electrified, her desperate cries echoing through the void until even that was taken from her, and there was nothing.

Nothing but the light.

* * *

The afternoon light was just beginning to turn to twilight as Amélie walked out of Chateau Guillard’s library and onto the stone balcony that provided a commanding view of Lac d’Annecy.

She had opened one of the more modern vintages that she’d discovered in the cellar, a quite respectable Pinot Gris that had been put up just after the official end of the Omnic Crisis, but the glass had yet to meet her lips.

_She’s late._

They’d gotten the message that Sombra was on her way almost a week ago, and had expected her to arrive within a day or two of the alert.

When she’d been a day late, they’d assumed she was simply covering her tracks.

The day after that, Lena had reached out to Winston, but he hadn’t received any reports of unusual activity, and the monitoring network they were working on was still not ready.

On the third day, she’d taken one of the boats down to town herself, and looked into the hospitals in the area to see if anyone matching Sombra’s description had been admitted to a hospital, either under an alias or as a “Jane Doe.”

Nothing.

“Thought you’d be out here.”

She turned enough to nod to Lena before finally taking a sip of the wine. “Am I becoming predictable, then?”

“Nothing wrong with enjoyin’ the view,” Lena replied with a smile before kissing her cheek, and despite her black mood Amélie smiled back.

“She’ll be ok,” Lena assured her as she leaned against the balcony rail.

Amélie shrugged and took another drink. It was all too easy to imagine how things might have gone wrong. “She could have been followed. Or intercepted.”  

Before Lena could respond, Sombra’s voice rose up from the boat dock below.

“Or she could have gotten held up because she needed to make sure she _wasn’t_ followed, and she had to stop in Monaco to plant a little evidence.”

Despite the relief that rushed through her, Amélie made a show of finishing the wine and putting her glass on one of the patio tables. “Then perhaps she should have _called_.”

One of Sombra’s beacons arced through the air, and Lena took a hop back to make sure her accelerator would not interfere with the field as Sombra translocated herself up to join them. “What, and miss you getting all mushy about me?”

She rolled her eyes rather than dignify that with a reply.

Lena winked to her, easily seeing through the facade before she gave Sombra a nod. “Seriously though - glad you made it.”

Sombra’s smirk fell into something more serious. “You may not be when we’re done.”

“You have news, then?”

“Yeah,” Sombra confirmed. “And it’s not good.”


	6. Chapter 6

The bombs fell, and the world shook with each impact.

She didn’t remember making her way underground, didn’t even remember what day it was or what she’d been doing.

It felt as if she’d closed her eyes and just...appeared in this place.

Pressed between bodies as they’d made their way down spiraling stairs, men and women apologizing as they bumped against each other, children trying to make it into a game, more than a few babies crying, a counterpoint to the sirens that had filled the air.

When she’d finally reached the front of the queue waiting to enter the shelter, an air raid warden handed her a stamped ticket with her bed assignment, and she’d blinked at the numbers in complete confusion.

“Can you not read, dear?”

She blinked as she looked over at the woman who had spoken. “Ah?”

The matronly woman tutted sympathetically. “Poor thing - you must be a bit shell shocked. Here, come with me.”

She followed, still trying to make sense of it all. The apocalyptic symphony of bombs had faded to a low basso rumble as they descended into the fortified tunnels, but she was having a dreadful time concentrating. She still couldn’t remember what she’d been doing.

In fact, she realized with a shiver, she couldn’t even remember her _name_.

“Blasted Jerries and their damned bombs,” her guide said as she plodded down the concrete and steel corridors. “They got my sister’s flat last week. She’s been sleeping on the sofa since!”

“I’m...I’m sorry.”

“Oh! Are you starting to get your wits about you?”

“I...I must be, I’m so sorry.”

The matron turned to give her a kind look. “Not at all, dear. Not in all this. Lord knows I’d lose my head if I didn’t have things to do!” They took another left, and the matron pointed to a sturdy looking wooden bunk. “Now - seems you didn’t have time to grab a pillow or blanket, so let me see what I can do for you, mm?”

“I...thank you! That’s very kind of you.”

“Not at all, dear. Not at all. Just doing my part!”

The woman bustled away, off to help someone else, she supposed. With nothing better to do, she decided to climb into the bunk while she waited, hearing the sounds of others moving through the shelter to find their own refuge.

As she closed her eyes, there was...something.

A sound, but not the bombs. Like a high pitched whistle that deepened to a roar, and with it she felt the strangest feeling of tingling that seemed to start at her feet and rise up through her body.

Her heart began to pound - somehow she _knew_ this sensation, and she knew it didn’t mean anything good. Her eyes darted around, searching for danger, but her vision swam and everything began to fade into blue nothingness as she gave in to her terror and screamed.

_( - was that - )_

The world returned with a sickening lurch, her throat raw and her face wet from crying as she stumbled on the cobblestones.

“Oi! You there!”

She blinked rapidly as she tried to dash the tears from her eyes, turning towards the black coated bobby who had called out to her.  “Me?”

“Yes, you! What are you doing out? Don’t you know there’s a curfew on?”

Her cheeks burned as she ducked her head with embarrassment. “Sorry, sir. I’m...a bit lost, if I’m honest.”

The constable snorted, his mustache rippling as he leaned in. “Don’t you look it. What’s your name, then?”

She...couldn’t remember. At a loss, she just gave the first name that came to mind. “Mary, sir.”

The constable tapped the brim of his helmet lightly with the heavy stick he carried in his right hand. “Right. Well, Mary - you had best run along home before I take you for loitering for your own safety.”

“My _safety?”_

The bobby looked at her like she was speaking Greek. “Haven’t you heard? They found another whore carved up like a Christmas roast on Goulston Street last night!”

Her stomach twisted. “I...oh. Oh the poor woman.”

“If you say so. Now - where do you live?”

Somehow she knew the answer to that. “Flower Street.”

The constable gave a long suffering sigh. “Course you do. Well, you best get back there, and if I see you again I _will_ run you in!”

She bowed her head. “Yes sir! Thank you sir. But...which way?”

He pointed down the next street with his stick. “That way, block and a half. Go on, then.”

She ducked her head, nodding, and picked up her skirts in her hand as she hurried away.

She’d almost made it to the house she would swear was _home_ when her feet seemed to fall _through_ the ground, and her cry of shock and dismay echoed crazily in her ears as everything was washed away.

_( - no, you still...to calibrate...incomplete - )_

Again and again, she found herself falling from one place and waking in another.

_( - interference! Realign - )_

A muddy field, the ground churned up by hooves and boots, the moans of the wounded rising through the air, the smell of grass and fresh flowers mingled with blood and shit.

_( - there she...closer...again! - )_

Marching with a crowd of suffragettes as they demanded the vote before Parliament, comforting her sisters struck down by police truncheons and cursing Asquith with every other breath.

_( - field containment - )_

Watching London burn, the fire spreading and spreading and nothing stopping it...a whole city turning to cinders.

_( - prep for surgery - )_

A new name each time.

Never hers.

Never right.

_( - initiate - )_

A sudden feeling of pressure.

Cold.

A high pitched whistling sound.

Screams.

 _Her_ screams.

“Haloperidol!”

A woman’s voice she knew. She thought.

She _thought_.

A cold pinch, but the world seemed to grow softer. No tingling. No blue.

Her heart slowing. Her fists slowly opening as her hands relaxed.

“Seems you had quite a fright, didn’t you? But that’s better now, isn’t it, Emily?”

_Emily._

_Emily?_

The world was fading into blackness again, but that thought struck like a lightning bolt.

_Emily Emily Emily EMILY ME ME ME ME I’M EMILY EMILY EMILY!_

_I’m Emily, I’m Emily, I’m Emily, I’m -_

* * *

“Emily Cooke.”

Lena had to admit the photo that Sombra had put up on the screen was a face that would have made her look twice if she’d run across her on the street. Thick falls of red hair, pale skin liberally dotted with freckles, a cute nose and full lips that quirked with amusement. Like she knew a joke she couldn’t wait to share.

“Born in Whitechapel on August 19th, 2048,” Sombra went on, and the headshot was replaced with a photo of her wearing a casual outfit as she walked down a street - probably taken from a CCTV camera judging by the angle. “Mother died just before the end of the crisis. Her dad raised her, pretty much her only family until he passed away from a heart attack three years ago. Works - or I guess I should say _worked_ \- as a massage therapist. But she’s got a little more going on than just knowing how to give a back rub.”

The photo shifted again to show her in a fighting outfit of some kind, a black belt with gold and white characters embroidered on the ends knotted around her waist.

“She holds a _pal dan_ black belt in Taekwondo, just missed the cut for the British Olympic team for the 2068 games, made the squad for ‘72 as an alternate. She was teaching self defense classes for women four nights a week while training for the next Olympic cycle - apparently she was expected to be one of the top members of the ‘76 squad before she disappeared.”

Amélie gave a thoughtful nod. “She was reported missing, then?”

“Yup.” Sombra gestured at the screen again, and a Metropolitan Police missing persons report came up. “Students reported she ran her evening class, locked up, and nobody saw her leave the studio. She didn’t show up for work or to teach for the next two days before some of her friends went to the police.” She glanced over to Amélie. “Sound familiar?”

Lena’s hand found Amélie’s as she gave a squeeze before speaking up. “So - elite athlete, obviously in pretty top physical shape, already has some training in how to fight. Suppose she’d be a good start to work from. But how do we know she didn’t join Talon of her own free will?”

Sombra put up a photo that had been pulled from a security camera of some kind. The woman they’d been discussing had been put into a hospital gown and strapped down to a bed with leather cuffs around her wrists and ankles. A black bite guard had been slipped between her lips and something that looked like a cross between a virtual reality helmet and an octopus covered her eyes, forehead, and ears.

“Because that’s the exact same setup they used to -”

Amélie’s voice was hard as iron as she interrupted Sombra. “To make me.”

“...oh.”

Sombra nodded. “Pretty much.” She flicked a finger at the screen to change to a short video that looked likely to be from a CCTV again. Emily walking down a set of steps with a bag over her shoulder, following a tall, angular woman who was careful to keep her head at an angle that kept the camera from seeing her face.

“I did a little digging - this was taken from the camera across from her gym on the night she disappeared. Hard to see the other person, but from knowing what _we_ know…”

“O’Deorain.”

“Yup.”

Lena grimaced. “So - will she be blue, too?”

“I couldn’t pull all of the files,” Sombra admitted, “but it looks like they’re working more on the conditioning and obedience part of the program. She was to receive weapons training and skill development, but mostly for close quarters combat to augment her existing skills.”

Amélie’s eyes narrowed. “But you _did_ find something else.”

The video was replaced with a series of schematics that Lena knew all too well, and she sucked in a sharp breath as the picture came together.

“So they _are_ working on another _Slipstream_ …”

Sombra nodded and brought up a photo - a metal tube frame sitting on what looked like a concrete floor, with several technicians in white clean suits and respirator masks working around it. “They don’t need the whole plane, just the drive core and some controls.”

“How far along are they?”

“I don’t know - all I can tell you is that it’s real, and they’re clearly expecting to put this girl through it and then pull her back out.”

Amélie’s eyes were full of determination. “Then we must prepare to move. Rescue her before she can be...used.”

Lena shivered, imagining what they might find if the mad science experiment actually succeeded. “An’ if we’re too late…”

“If we can reach her,” Amélie said after a moment, “we recover her. If not...believe me, _chérie_ , when I say that death would be a gift.”

Lena thought of what it had been like to be trapped, falling in and out of time, out of lives, losing her grip on her very sense of self until Winston had pulled her back to reality. Thought of what it might have been like if it had been Talon to “rescue” her instead of Overwatch.

“...yeah. Yeah, it would.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this chapter - I've been sick as a dog. 
> 
> I'll try to have more updates soon. Thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

Lena groaned as the sound of her communicator’s urgent beeping roused her from sleep.

“Mmf...comin’...’M coming….”

She winced as her feet hit the cold floor of the chateau’s master bedroom, and she shuffled over to where she’d left her jacket, fishing the comm out of a pocket before flipping it open.

_“Lena?”_

“Yeah...Winston? That you, luv? It’s...stupid early, mate.”

_“I know, I’m sorry, but this couldn’t wait.”_ The concern in his tone broke through the last of the fog in her brain, and Lena’s stomach clenched as she cradled the communicator in her hands. _“You’re still in France?”_

“Yeah. Our...um…’friend’ finally showed up and gave us a briefing. I was going to leave in the morning to bring the files to you.”

_“...I think you should come in as soon as possible, and bring your friend. Amélie, too.”_

Lena’s chest was tight, an ache of dread mingled with anxiety pressing down on her ribs like iron bands. “Winston. What’s happened?”

Winston’s voice was so quietly mournful that it was nearly a monotone. _“The satellite monitoring is finally online.”_

_“We’re detecting quantum fluctuations matching the signature of the Slipstream drive - and your accelerator’s anchoring effects - in Iraq."_

Lena felt as if her mouth was suddenly full of sand. “They did it. They...they put her through it.”

_“Her?”_

“The ‘subject’. It’s a woman. She’s named Emily Cooke.”

_“A Talon operative?”_

“...I suppose she is now.”

_“How soon can you be in Gibraltar?”_

Lena looked over to the bed, where a pair of golden eyes watched her from the darkness.

“We’ll be wheels up soon as we get dressed.”

_“Right. I’ll keep monitoring for activity. I suppose...it’s possible it’s a false positive."_

Lena closed her eyes, took a breath, and let it out. “I think we both know it isn’t, but thanks big guy.”

_“Of course. I’ll see you soon.”_

She shut the connection down and let the comm fall from her hands, finally letting herself tremble from the waves of emotion crashing through her.

_She did it. She took someone and they made another one and_ they did it _to someone else. They’ve done it to_ _someone else_.

She heard Amélie’s voice from behind her, but she couldn’t turn around. Her thoughts were consumed by a sudden wave of nausea and the desperate urge to make it to the ensuite in time.

She didn’t register cool hands rubbing her back and a comforting presence behind her until after she’d emptied her stomach and finished coughing up the last of her revulsion into the toilet, everything seeming harsh and flat under the bathroom lights.  

“I heard enough to understand what must have happened,” Amélie said quietly as she offered a glass of water.

Lena nodded, not trusting herself to speak until she’d rinsed out her mouth a few times. “Iraq. He didn’t say it was Oasis, but…”

“Of course. Where else?” Amélie’s touch on her bare shoulder was heartbreakingly soft. “Should I stay with you?”

Lena considered, then shook her head. “No…I’ll manage. My head’s still spinning but I’ll be OK as long as I can focus on getting things done. You should go wake Sombra up. Let her know we need to get moving.”

The look Amélie gave her made it clear she didn’t entirely believe her, but she was going to respect her attempt at a coping mechanism. “I will come back to dress and collect our bags once she is awake.”

“Right. OK, luv. I’ll...I’ll just take a mo, then I’ll get myself back together.”

Amélie pressed a kiss on her forehead, but didn’t offer empty words when they both knew _absolutely nothing_ was OK in that moment.

Lena let herself sink down the rest of the way to the floor, sliding back until her back touched the cool surface of the wall. She tipped her head back and closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing to help herself calm down and center herself.

It took longer than she would have liked to admit, but finally the nausea ebbed and her body calmed, gradually allowing her mind to follow.

By the time they’d loaded up the flyer that would carry them to the Watchpoint, she wouldn’t necessarily say she felt completely back to normal, but Lena could at least focus on what would have to come next.

_She’ll be confused, disoriented, probably unable to focus on the proper time and place. Especially if she’s in a containment chamber and not out and about on her own._

_Maybe we’ll get a chance to get her out of there with some of my spare kit, and help her remember who she was before this happened. Maybe getting punted through the Slipstream will break Talon’s conditioning. Maybe she’ll just want to go home. Maybe, maybe, maybe..._

Unlikely as it was, she tried to hang onto those hopes as she got the jet into the air.

As plans went, it wasn’t much, but it was the best they had.

* * *

She woke up.

She hadn’t expected to.

The room was spartan. White walls, a rolling stool, a chair.

Something in her brain took it all in and said _hospital._

Another part of her disagreed, and said _cell_.

She could feel something tight across her waist, and her legs couldn’t move.

If she was restrained, the hospital was still possible, but it certainly suggested she was a prisoner, unless she’d been hurt so badly that she had to be kept still.

She frowned as she tried to remember what had happened.

She’d been...had she been in a fight? And then...blue light. So much blue light. Falling, twisting, _nothing!_

“NO!” She put her hands to the sides of her head, feeling an IV line drag across her skin. “No. No. That’s...I’m not there. I’m here. I’m _here_.” She shuddered, and opened her eyes so she could look around again.

“Wherever here is.”

Her chest felt odd. A dull, throbbing ache, and a strange feeling like something was sitting on her chest.

No. Not on.

_In_ her chest.

Her hands fumbled until she found a button to raise the head of the bed, and once she was sitting up properly she looked down at herself.

Someone had dressed her in a light grey hospital gown, and a blanket covered her from the waist down. An IV was poking from her left forearm, but the right was free.

_Seems...mostly normal, so far._

She reached up and tugged at the gown so she could look beneath it, and hissed in sudden surprise and shock.

Some kind of bandages and gauze had been wrapped around her chest, the white fabric tinged with shades of brown, pink, and yellow from dried fluids. Instead of staying flat at the center, though, there was a raised, cylindrical shape that rose from her core, just beneath her breasts, with a faint glow of blue light she could just barely make out through the fabric.

_That light...I know that light…_

The disjointed memories and identities clashed and rebounded in her head as she struggled to sort them, desperate to reassert herself with _here_ and _now_.

_I am. Emily. Cooke._

Once that had been firmly settled, she looked around again, looking at everything in that new context.

_And I am a prisoner here._

Emily let her head fall back against the pillow and pretended to fall asleep again, trying to understand it all. The jumbled memories were hard to sort through, and she couldn’t really tell what had been real and what had been...whatever that had been.

She remembered being in a chair. A hand grasping her chin. A set of mismatched eyes that reassured her and terrified her at the same time.

_I think that really happened._

The sound of the door being unlatched made her tense beneath the restraints. She strained to listen as the door opened, and footsteps began to approach.

“You can open your eyes, you know. I can see your brain activity.”

Emily grimaced at the news before she sat herself up and looked over.

The woman _(Moira)_ who had come into the room was unsettlingly familiar, and she realized it was the same face that she remembered from so many of her dreams. But instead of a motherly, comforting air, she seemed clinical and sinister in her dark robes, her eyes glittering coldly. “Well. How are you feeling, dear?”

She gestured down to her waist. “I seem to be immobilized.”

“Merely a precaution. We didn’t want you to stress the surgical sites after going to such effort to get you back.”

Emily did her best to stare back into Moira’s eyes. “What _kind_ of surgery?”

Moira tilted her head slightly, as if taking in a number of new details. “Well. That is interesting. A side effect, perhaps?”

The longer Emily looked into Moira’s eyes the more she felt conflicted. As if she wanted to back down and do as she was told, yet also a rising anger at what had apparently been done to her without her consent.

_“What. Surgery.”_

“I see we shall have to make a few adjustments,” Moira mused as if speaking to herself. “But perhaps this is just as well for now.” She approached the bed and made a gesture at her chest. “You took part in an experiment. As a consequence, your connection to what we could consider normal time and space was damaged.”

Emily shivered as she remembered her different lives. “I thought those were dreams. Or nightmares.”

“We shall have to discuss your experiences later,” Moira said with a much more genuine smile. “I imagine you could make some fascinating contributions to our understanding. But - the surgery you underwent was to implant a system which will keep you ‘here’, in this time, in this place.”

Emily looked down at where she could feel the ‘implant.’ “A system…”

“Mm. It has several other capabilities we will train you to utilize and take advantage of, but for now it’s best for you to heal and rest.” Moira’s smile had slipped back into false cheer. “We’ll have you up and about soon enough.”

“And if I tell you no? If I refuse to do have anything else to do with this?”

Moira’s expression hardened. “I would encourage you to reconsider.” Her eyes dropped to where Emily knew the bandages rested against her skin. “After all, your implant is rather advanced technology. It would be unfortunate if it were to be... _unreliable.”_

Emily had little else to say to that.


	8. Chapter 8

Amélie hadn’t been sure what to expect when they reached Watchpoint: Gibraltar.

A full throated shouting match hadn’t been it.

“ARE YOU INSANE?”

Soldier: 76, the poorly disguised Jack Morrison, gestured wildly as he stood across from where Winston glowered, a nonplussed looking Ana Amari at his back.

“It is bad enough to have Lacroix in and out of here - “

“She’s been WORKING with us - “

“Letting Oxton freelance on her quest for revenge -”

“What exactly would you call your search for Reaper?”

“But ANOTHER Talon agent -”

“Who is bringing us VALUABLE INTELLIGENCE!”

“ _IF_ IT’S REAL!”

That was more than enough.

Thankful that Lena was still shutting down their aircraft, she brushed past Sombra and stalked down the boarding ramp to the hangar floor, her hands balling into fists.

She dearly wanted to slap Morrison, but the mask made that a poor plan. She settled for staring Morrison and Winston down, waiting for them both to realize she had arrived and witnessed their tantrum.

She let them stew, Winston’s face falling with embarrassment while Morrison’s body language slowly shifted from outrage to confusion.

“I am not here because I care about Overwatch,” she declared before either of them could try to speak. “Sombra is not here because she wishes to help you _or_ Talon.” She gestured back to the flyer without looking away. “We are here for _her_ , and she needs _your help_.”

Amélie let that hang in the air before she spoke again.

“There is too much to do for this stupidity, and even less time. You are supposed to be her friends. I should not have to tell you this.”  

Morrison at least had the decency to look away, and Amari actually seemed...pleased? She wasn’t sure what to make of that.

Winston had hunched down from his earlier posture, his head coming up as he cleared his throat. “I have everything we’ve put together since the event was detected in my lab. I...would appreciate the chance to review what Sombra was able to retrieve from Oasis.” He looked over to ‘76’, his tone growing a bit firmer. “If there are no more objections, I think we should get to work.”

Morrison grumbled beneath his breath, but said nothing else before he turned and walked away.

To her surprise, Ana did not follow him.

Amélie watched the older woman warily, feeling her scrutiny until the older woman gave her a faint smile.

“That was very well said. Even if we know it wasn’t entirely true.”

“What?!”

Ana’s smile turned to a smirk. “If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t be so angry.”

She scoffed and rolled her eyes as Ana followed Morrison back into the Watchpoint, but didn’t really have a way to rebut her.

* * *

Moira slowly stirred sugar into her mug of tea as she sat and thought.

The initial phases of the Parallax project had been as smooth as glass, and their subject had been quite receptive to the conditioning process.

Now the subject had not actually _refused_ instructions, but she was certainly more willful since her recovery from the chronal disassociation effect.

_Still, that is not entirely undesirable._

Parallax was to be a weapon. A willful, engaged combatant would respond to events and unpredictable developments in a fight better than a passive drone. A sharp edge would always be preferable to a dull blade.

_So - perhaps it is time to modify our approach._

Moira took a sip from her mug, savoring the warmth on her tongue.

_Less conditioning, more implantation of triggers...yes. Give her the illusion of more autonomy. Let her feel she is in control._

She smiled as she began to draft new protocols to be used in the weapon’s development. Once she had the modifications ready, they could begin applying them.

 _Hypnoinduction therapy while the subject is asleep should be quite effective, and staff_ _must_ _remove all of the conditioning instruments before the subject wakes._

They would need to put her into a delta state for at least twelve hours to ensure the deepest layers took root properly, but that was simple enough.

_The remaining components should be available for testing by the time she has been prepared. A bit of familiarization and training, and she’ll be ready. Perhaps a field test?_

She didn’t wish to put her immediately up against Tracer or Widowmaker, but if Max had been the source of the recent difficulties...yes.

_I believe I shall repay his favor in kind._

* * *

The impromptu conference room that had been set up in Winston’s lab was meant for six, usually. Ten in a pinch, and even then Winston counted as two of them.

With virtually everyone who had answered the recall or eventually made their way to the Watchpoint there (plus Amélie, Satya, and Sombra), it was a very tight squeeze. Lena wasn’t normally against getting squished against her friend - or between some pretty girls - but it would be nice if she felt like she could move.

“Here is what we know right now,” Winston said as he tapped at his keyboard, opening up the briefing file Athena had created from their combined intelligence.

The first slide brought up the Talon Council room.  

“Ten weeks ago, Moira O’Deorain was given permission by Talon to start developing a ‘countermeasure’ against both Tracer and Widowmaker. Moira returned to Oasis immediately to start developing what she codenamed ‘Project: Parallax’.”

The picture changed to show Emily Cooke’s head shot.

“Emily Cooke. An Olympian and martial artist living in London. We’re not sure exactly how she came to Moira’s attention, but we know she has apparently been selected as the primary test subject.”

As her biographical information scrolled past, a window opened showing Moira leading Emily away from the studio where she had been teaching.

“This was the last time Emily Cooke was seen in London. As you can see, she was approached by O’Deorain and lead to a car that we now know was using fake police tags.”

She watched Jack’s head tilt slightly as he met Ana’s eye, then straightened up slightly. “And we’re certain she had no prior connection to Talon - or O’Deorain?”

Sombra nodded from where she’d wedged herself between Amélie and Satya. “Nothing on her in Talon’s files, and I couldn’t find any family ties, friends, messages, financials, or other links. If I had to guess…” She hesitated, glancing over at her friend before she continued. “Two-tone had a big role in creating Widowmaker, and in maintaining her conditioning and enhancements. I think she may have been keeping files on potential ‘candidates.’ It wouldn’t surprise me if she had files on a lot of athletes and anyone else with skills she decided might make a good assassin someday.”

Lena found Amélie’s hand and squeezed tight.

“Regardless of how she came to her attention,” Winston resumed, “Miss Cooke was reported missing two days later - and would not be seen again until about two weeks ago.”

The photo changed to the image Sombra had captured of Emily laying on a bed in Moira’s laboratory being ‘conditioned.’

“Based on the programming details Sombra obtained, it’s highly unlikely her participation is voluntary.” Winston looked over to Sombra, then pulled up some of the details of combat skill implantation and memory modifications being performed.

“I threw a couple of monkey wrenches in,” Sombra piped up, then gave Winston an embarrassed look. “Oops,”

“I’m _aware_ of the term. Please go on.”

Sombra nodded. “Mostly tricks I used back when we were helping break Amélie’s leash. Making the implanted memories a little less seamless. Messing with the obedience training. Pushing her personality back towards where it should have been.”

Fareeha cleared her throat softly before she spoke up. “Enough to make her willing to fight back against Talon?”

“Hard to say until we can talk to her,” Sombra admitted, “but you’d think.”

Ana gave a thoughtful hum before turning to look directly at Amélie. “And the possibility of her being set up as a sleeper agent?”

Amélie didn’t back down from the challenge. “A possibility, yes, but unlikely. We have no reason to believe Moira is aware we have this information. She would have no reason to...prepare her...as I was.”

“Based on what Sombra has provided,” Angela interjected, “I believe I would be able to examine her and search for signs of such programming - and to help with removing it.”

Ana tilted her head slightly. “Assuming that Moira has not changed her plans.”

“Regardless, that’s only a piece of the puzzle.” Winston cleared the screen, and replaced it with a slowly spinning wireframe globe.

“Based on the reports that Moira would be attempting to replicate the _Slipstream_ accident using stolen technical data and - to my chagrin - information on how the prototype was originally sabotaged, we began to set up our satellite network to monitor for chronal energy events.”

“At the same time,” he continued as he pulled up images of the stripped down frame that supported the drive unit and rudimentary cockpit, “it appears Talon was constructing this device.”

“Didn’t need the whole jet,” Jesse spoke up with a rumble in his voice. “Makes sense they’d just take what they needed and leave the rest.”

“At the time these pictures were taken, the device was incomplete, but when we began making scanning passes over Iraq last night…”

The globe stopped spinning as a bright red dot began to pulse in the Arabian peninsula, and zoomed in until it showed Iraq, with the dot centered squarely within the borders of the Oasis mini-state.

“The signal has remained relatively unchanged since we began monitoring it.”

Fareeha looked up at the projection. “Which means what, exactly?”

Lena tapped the front of her accelerator. “It means...well. Something like this. If it was just the drive - even for a test fire - it would have popped up and then gone away. Only reason to have something operating constantly is if it’s keepin’ someone there.”

Winston nodded gravely. “As I told Lena a few weeks ago - there’s no guarantee that Miss Cooke would experience exactly the same effects - or gain similar abilities. But…”

Morrison interrupted him with a harsh grunt. “But O’Deorain believed she would, and went to all this effort just to find out if she was right.”

Angela looked like she wanted a drink. “A distressingly likely possibility, yes.”

Winston tapped a finger against his chin, then pulled up an image of a room Lena knew far too well. “It’s possible - even likely - that she’s currently confined to a containment chamber, much like Lena was until I finished development of the accelerator. That should make it relatively easy to find her and offer her an extraction.”

Lena nodded. “Figured we’d rig one of my spares for her. Even if it’s not perfect it would probably keep her solid long enough to get her out.”

Jesse spoke up again. “An’ if she ain’t Emily Cooke anymore? What if you get there and it’s just ‘Parallax’ or ‘TraceMaker’ or somethin’?”

Amélie didn’t quite roll her eyes at the names Jesse suggested, but her voice was clipped and curt as she answered him. “Then we will try to remove her, and failing that, I stand by what I told Lena: Killing her would likely be a mercy.”

Angela looked down at the floor. “An option I should prefer we avoid.”

Jack didn’t seem impressed with any of their plans. “So - based on a few photos, data captured by a _notorious_ double agent, and some instrument package readings, you want to go lay siege to a sovereign state to rescue a woman who may not even want to leave - and could easily be a living, breathing trap.”

“That’s about the size of it,” Lena admitted. “But what else are we supposed to do?”

“You could wait to see if they put her into the field,” Fareeha mused.

“If you truly are concerned about her being conditioned further,” Amélie replied, “I would not suggest that.”

Ana nodded agreement, reaching up to touch the patch over her ruined eye. “Nor would I.” She turned to look at Amélie again, and the room seemed to grow a bit colder. “After all - Talon would not put her into the field if they didn’t believe she would do as she was told.”

“It has to be now,” Sombra urged as she attempted to kick the conversation back to the matter at hand. “You wait much longer and it’s only going to get more dangerous for _everyone._ ”

Winston stood, trying not to jostle anyone too badly. “I agree. We can’t stand by. Not again. Not when we can _stop_ this. I won’t ask anyone to take part in the mission who isn’t comfortable with it - but if you are willing, I need to know as soon as possible. Athena will distribute copies of the briefing and the stolen files to all of you. Look them over, and make your decision.”

With that, the meeting was over and the others began to file out until it was just Amélie, Lena, Satya, Sombra, and Winston.

“No matter who is willing to come along,” Sombra mused, “this is gonna be rough.”

Winston gave a long sigh as he settled back down on one of his tire seats. “Yes, I’m afraid so. But you’re right - there’s no time to waste.”


	9. Chapter 9

Emily was glad to be out of her “recovery room”, but she wasn’t sure the current situation was a real improvement.

It seemed she was underground, based on the lack of windows. She’d been lead to a room where she was asked to change into a tight green and black bodysuit, with a hole that exposed her “implant”, black running boots, and had tied her hair back into a loose ponytail before being taken to what seemed to be a cross between a gun range, obstacle course, and an underground football pitch.

“How are you feeling, Emily?”

She frowned at Moira. The woman seemed to be her chief captor, yet she also seemed to be one of the few who _asked_ questions like that, and treated her half decently.

She knew she shouldn’t trust her, but part of her was glad that _someone_ seemed to care.

“Well enough, I guess. Are we going to a fancy dress party?”

Moira chuckled as she walked to a bench set into the wall. “I suppose that is one way to look at it.” She opened a slab sided case and turned it so Emily could see what was inside. “Care to add the finishing touches?”

“What is that?” It looked a bit like a black metal squid, and as she got closer she realized the ‘arms’ were actually some kind of harness rig.

“The first part of your operating rig,” Moira explained as if that made everything clear. “Please - try it on. You’ll find the core unit will lock into your implant.”

“Oh, how silly of me,” Emily snarked as she picked up the rig and slipped it on over her shoulders. “That should have been obvious.”

Moira gave a long suffering sort of sigh. “I think once we begin the practical tests you’ll find the results fairly obvious. Now - once you have that done, come over here and we’ll finish arming you.”

Emily stopped in the middle of adjusting the device, watching as it began to glow with the same light as her implant, the blue spreading through the central unit so it lit up “go faster” stripes that had been set into the harness.  “You’re giving me a gun?”

“Technically,” Moira observed dryly.

“What stops me from shooting my way out of this place, then?”

Moira’s smile became much colder. “I would suggest you reconsider. After all - you don’t even know where ‘this place’ is.”

 _She’s right_ , Emily realized with a frown. _I’ve no idea how many people I’d have to try to make it through - and even if I had enough ammunition to kill all of them, that’s no guarantee of making it out. I could be at the bottom of the ocean for all I know._

“...right. I suppose there is that.”

Moira’s smile seemed to gain a bit more warmth. “I appreciate you being reasonable. Besides - aren’t you the least bit curious what you can do with the full system?”

Emily was surprised to find she was, in fact. After everything she’d gone through...yes. It would be nice to know it had been worth _something_.

With just a bit of reluctance, she walked over to where Moira had opened another set of cases. “Fine. What’s next?”

Moira turned the cases around, revealing a set of armor plated gauntlets that would cover her hands and forearms, with shaped caps to protect her elbows.

“Integrated forearm weapon systems,” Moira explained as Emily picked up the first gauntlet and figured out how to put it on. “An evolution of weapons in use by some of our operatives. I’ll walk you through their loading and use.”

“You say _our_ like I’m going to be...one of you. Whoever you are.”

“You’re welcome to stop at any time,” Moira said blandly. “But we would insist on deactivating all of our proprietary technology before allowing you to leave. Including the implant keeping you fixed in time and space.”

Emily’s lips compressed to a hard line as she locked the first gauntlet down, then took a set of green lensed eye protection from the case, slipping them on before she put in a set of ear plugs. “I see.”

Moira looked up, and something in her eyes made Emily relax slightly. “On the other hand, I think you will find that compliance and success can bring _considerable_ rewards.”

Emily felt a swell of hope as she finished putting the other gauntlet on. “I could go back to London?”

“Wherever you like,” Moira replied. “Within reason, of course.”

“Oh,” Emily said as her heart sank. “Of course.”

“Don’t look so glum. I assure you there are benefits to your new position.”

Emily tried to swallow her feelings. “Fine. Can we get on with this, please?”

“Very well. Turn your arm out towards me, palm down.”

Emily did as she was asked, and Moira pushed back a pair of catches she hadn’t noticed before towards the “back” of the weapon, then picked up two crescent shaped magazines that locked together, forming a ring around the back of her forearm.

“The primary ranged weapon in each unit is a magnetically boosted scattergun that draws power from your accelerator, fed from the drum magazine. Effective out to twenty meters but best at close range. Spare magazines will be provided in your equipment when you’re in the field.”

“How do I aim, or fire?”

Moira smirked as she demonstrated where the safety was located, then held out her arm. “Point and shoot. To fire, form a fist, and squeeze your trigger finger. Same on your other arm, once it’s loaded.”

“If this is the primary, that implies there’s a secondary weapon.”

Moira smiled. “Squeeze your thumb.”

Emily did so, and a wicked looking set of thrusting knives snapped out of where they had been concealed, reminding her a bit of a bird of prey’s talons.  “Oh.”

“I would be careful - they’re quite sharp, and capable of punching through almost any body armor. Particularly with a bit of momentum behind them.”

She waited for Moira to finish arming the other gauntlet, then looked around the room. “So - what now?”

“I’ll be going to the control room,” Moira answered, “and lighting up a series of targets. Destroy them in whatever way seems best - but I encourage you to be creative.”

She had been about to ask what _that_ meant when there was a sound of air rushing in, and when she turned to look, the doctor was gone.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Emily mused as she turned around to face the range again.

* * *

Moira smiled as she settled into a chair in the observation booth.

_She’s still being a bit willful, but she responded to triggers and took direction perfectly._

_We can reinforce her conditioning later, but this is a very promising start._

She reached out to activate a recorder.

“This is our first fully integrated Parallax test. Subject one has been given basic instructions, but nothing beyond a simple set of mission parameters. Activating target sequence in three...two...one...now.”

Out on the testing range, the overhead lights switched from white to red, and a series of man shaped targets were projected onto the field.

For the first few targets, Emily simply ran up and stabbed or shot them. A reasonable move, to get the feel of the weapons, but Moira expected more.

“Unlocking accelerator functions,” she noted for the recorder as she keyed in a code.

Emily stopped in mid run, shuddering as she clutched her chest.

“Would you tell me how you feel, Emily?”

Emily looked up at the ceiling, her shocked expression slowly fading. “Feels like...someone just hooked me up to mains power. Tingly. Like I have a lot of extra energy, suddenly. Like I need to _move_.”

“Well, then.” She flicked a switch, and the targets began to rotate around the room, changing angles and speeds at different points. “Best get to it.”

Emily hesitated for a moment, then began to run. The first few steps seemed normal, but on the third...her entire body seemed to stutter, as if the camera had been suddenly turned to the wrong speed.

She seemed as if she was in two places at once for the briefest moment, connected by a series of afterimages, then reappeared in front of one of the moving targets, her blades slashing through the chest.

Another stutter-step, and a target across the room lost its’ head in a cloud of buckshot.

“Subject appears to have instinctively begun to use teleportation,” she observed. “Quite interesting - she was not given any training.”

“Let’s see what happens if we introduce a bit of difficulty.”

An automated gun rose out of the floor, firing low power pulse rounds. Enough to hurt, but not enough to damage their new property.

Emily was surprised by the attack, stumbling as rounds caught her in the hip, but to Moira’s mild disappointment she didn’t seem to ‘recall’ as Oxton did.

However, what she _did_ do was quite interesting.

Emily did disappear entirely this time, then seemed to blink back into existence in several points _at once_ around the gun, firing at it with both gauntlets until the weapon was reduced to a sparking pile of parts.

“Well! That was quite unexpected.”

Moira sat back to see what would happen with the remaining targets, and she was delighted to watch Emily bounce from wall to wall, using a flying kick to drop one, a drop to the ground and her arms spread at her sides to take out a pair at once, and finally a teleporting charge into the last, firing her shotguns and then plunging the blades into it for the _coup de grace_.

Moira tapped a key to collect the telemetry from the accelerator for analysis, then checked the time.

“Course completed in...one minute, twenty seconds. Quite a successful test, I should say. Locking accelerator functions back down, and we’ll reinforce the behavior with additional conditioning once the subject is asleep.”

She’d see about rewarding Emily with some better food tonight. Perhaps some dessert.

She _had_ promised benefits, after all.

* * *

As the lights on the range changed back to normal, Emily let herself fall back, the blades retracting back into the gauntlets as she relaxed her hands.

She felt like she’d just fought an entire tournament and then run a marathon. Her chest was heaving, sucking in breath, and her nose was filled with the smells of gunsmoke and hot metal.

She’d _never_ done anything like that. Never been so violent, or so uncontrolled.

And yet...it felt _amazing_.

Moira lead two security guards into the room, removed her weapons, and took off the harness.

She let them lead her back to her room as she mulled over what was going on.

She didn’t want to turn into what these people wanted her to be.

She didn’t want to be a weapon.

But it felt so, so good.

_What am I going to become?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The same person who commissioned this fic has also commissioned art of Emily in her [Parallax Unit 01 equipment](https://nikanono.tumblr.com/post/184369864275/emily-in-parallax-by-bzarcher-go-give-it-a-read) from Nika. Please go check it out and enjoy!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Rhitta for giving me the ideas for this fic - this is going to be a fun ride!


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